Carpe Diem
by Call-Me-Crazy.Cuz I Am
Summary: 'You realize that Rose is much, much more than a way to show your independence. She is uniquely beautiful; it shows up in the bright scarves she wears under her robes and the easy way her eyes crinkle when she smiles. She is a Weasley, but she makes you feel like you're more than the stories you make up and the lies you tell.' [Rose/Scorpius, companion piece to 'Beautiful'. R/R.]


**A.N. After writing 'Beautiful' I really, really, REALLY wanted to do a companion in Scorpius's POV, and the thought 'carpe the fuck out of your diems' came to me and I was like 'YES I AM WRITING THAT.**' **I am a weird child, in case you couldn't tell. **

**Carpe Diem means 'Seize the day'. **

**Disclaimer: NOPE. **

**PLEASE DROP A REVIEW! PRETTY PLEASE!**

_**Carpe Diem**_

Your name is Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy and all your life, you have been independent.

From a very young age, you know that you don't want anything you can't give yourself, and you sure as hell don't want to be beholden to anyone but you. You learn to depend on you and only you, and you like it like that. Your mum and dad dote on you, but you've never wanted the suppressing blanket of affection they offer. You don't want good enough; you want to be free and young: you want _(but never admit that you want)_ the kind of love that leaves you breathless and weak-kneed. You've always been like that, and there is a part of you that plays the pureblood and refuses to accept anything else.

When you are little, you don't understand why your dad sends the maids to Diagon Alley instead of going himself or why you can only play inside of the Manor and never with anyone your mum doesn't invite over.

And then, when you are nine, you sneak away from your nanny on a shopping trip and you run into the street you've secretly dreamed of.

And what you see shocks you. Women clutch their purses tighter; fathers grab their daughters protectively and shop owners stare at you distastefully. You walk past a red-haired man with a little girl in his arms, and you hear him sneer and call you a 'Death-Eater'.

You have chubby cheeks, shiny blond hair, and intelligent gray eyes; you _look_ cherubic. You are _nine_; you are a_ child_. But because you are a Malfoy, you are a threat.

You don't go out much after that and people look at you sideways when you do; you are mocked and ridiculed and hurt and still you keep your head high because the way you see it, they can only hurt you if you let them. After all, you are a Malfoy, and Malfoys do not allow weakness in themselves.

So you create a life full of double-truths and lies in order to always remain in control and solid. That's why, when you start at Hogwarts, you laugh when you sit at the Ravenclaw table _(you don't tell anyone how close you came to Slytherin). _ You stare icily back at James Potter every time he glares and calls you 'Ferret' _(you don't tell him that you were the one that brought Lily back to the castle when she was lost in the Forbidden Forest). _ You laugh with your friends about the absurdly red color of Rose Weasley's hair (_you don't say how much you want to run your fingers through it)._

You carpe the bloody hell out of your diems and you live your life the way you want to.

Only, you notice, as you grow older, that living your life the way you want to has become a safety bar for you. Whenever someone's words legitimately hurt you, you tell yourself _'screw them.'_ When it turns out that your best subject is Defense Against the Dark Arts, you ignore the scoffs and incredulous whispers. '_It's my life'_ you say. '_I'll do with it what I want.'_

But oh, Mr. Malfoy, don't your know your life has never been yours?

Your float along half-awake, and you don't realize that the reality is, _you've never been yours_. The words _'It's my life'_ become hollower and hollower as the years pass, because you begin to see that it isn't, not really. It becomes harder and harder to stay _you_ and to not punch that arrogant smirk off of James Potter's face. But you manage, and slowly you delude yourself into thinking you've reclaimed yourself.

And then she comes along and screws everything up.

You noticed Rose Weasley in your first year and you never stop noticing her. Everything she does, everything she says, it lodges in your mind until you are full of her.

After all, what better way to show that your life is yours than to pull a Weasley, and Rose, you can tell, is like you. She is just as captured, just as quirky, and just as burdened by her name and the expectations that come with it.

As you get older, you do subconsciously do things that make her notice you. You leave your collar untucked and wear your robes loosely. You fling open all of the windows in the Herbology room on a whim and Transfigure all of Professor Longbottom's planting pots into tea cups -he laughs so much when he sees the Venomus Tentacula growing out of a ginormous china cup that you don't even get detention- and you smile whenever you catch her eye.

When you are paired together on that fateful Arithmancy project, you realize that Rose is much, much more than a way to show your independence. She is unique. It shows up in the bright scarves she wears under her robes and the easy way her eyes crinkle when she smiles. She is quirky and different and she, you realize one class when she breaks into a huge grin, is beautiful.

She is a Weasley, but she makes you feel like you're more than the stories you make up and the lies you tell.

And when she covers your big hand with her tiny one and tells you that you are more than your name, you know in your heart that you are well and truly whipped.

That's why you come round the Burrow, even when you know you shouldn't- she wants you to, and that's a good enough reason for you. The watery smile and the tearful 'I love you' she gives you when you wake up in St. Mungo's after her father gives you a concussion more than make up for your black eye and broken nose.

You hold her hand in the streets and you focus on the way the light sparkles off of the ring on her finger and not the hostile glares you can feel penetrating your back. You two are different and similar all at once and you fight and scream and love and laugh and cry and you muddle your way through life.

She always leaves one shoe underneath the bed and loves to make you coffee when you come home, and you fling open all the windows in the house and make a point to carry her off to bed at least once a week. Your quirks make your house a home and you never tire of coming back to it, or waking up entangled in Rose. She still laughs when you kiss her in the middle of a speech and you still love running your hands down her bare back and together, you finally _live_.

When your children are born, you receive a letter from Rose's dad that you burn before Rose sees it, and though she tries to hide it, you find the ashes of a your Grandad's letters and you know she does the same for you.

That's what you two offer each other: you protect and laugh and dream and carpe the diems you spend together.

You are not _RomeoandJuliet_ or _TristanandIsolde _or _MariusandCosette._

You are _RoseandScorpius_. You are _eggsbaconandcoffee_ and you are _shoesleftunderthebed_ and you are l_ovemadeonthekitchentable_ and you are four beautiful kids with _red-white-blond_ curls and _blue-gray_ eyes.

And when she holds your hand tightly and whispers that _she could die of happiness_, you can't help but nod and agree.


End file.
